


Witty Fool, Foolish Wit

by Mascaboom



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Birthday, Blood Drinking, Deception, Human Sides (Sanders Sides), Human/Vampire Relationship, Insecurity, M/M, Rated for Remus' sense of humour, Sexual Humor, Sibling Bonding, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:20:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23513785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mascaboom/pseuds/Mascaboom
Summary: Roman is dragged by Remus to a bar so they can celebrate their 30th birthday. A vampire bar, one staffed by an exceptionally hot bartender.D.C. doesn't care whose drinks he mixes, but he's starting to care about Roman.Remus thought setting his brother and his friend up would be easy, but nothing's ever easy with these idiots.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 14
Kudos: 80





	Witty Fool, Foolish Wit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patentpending](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patentpending/gifts).



> First published fic!! It had to be vampires, my dudes.
> 
> This whole thing is a gift to patentpending for being a stunning friend over the last year, and a love letter to her writing. I'm so grateful for the pure happenstance of us meeting, and everything after <3 Thank for the excuse to finally explore Roman's character tbh
> 
> Another big thank you to the friend who helped me work through some of these plot points!!
> 
> Warning: Sexual humour, implied. Alcohol use. Slight self depreciation.
> 
> Title taken from Twelfth Night!

He should have turned the offer down.

Of course, any ‘ _offer_ ’ involving his twin brother was less voluntary participation, and more being needled into a ridiculous situation while Remus got his way. Roman felt justified in his indignation considering he had no clue where they were at the moment, and that was never a good sign.

“Oh, stop being such a killjoy, Gerard No-Way! We’re almost there.” Remus cajoled, grip on his wrist too tight to be reassuring as they walked.

“That is _so_ not the point! You still haven’t deigned to mention where on God’s green Earth ‘there’ is, you don’t have the best track record with directions, or even sane ideas, and I told you back at home I didn’t want to—” Roman’s mini tirade was interrupted by Remus whooping and ducking through the nearest open doorway without looking back. He thought long and hard about just leaving him there. It would be completely justified.

At some point in his reverie, Roman thought to glance up for a name to this place. _Serpentine_ was written in elegant signage above the door frame, yellow neon undercutting the word like a highlighter across a page. The windows were oddly tinted, but the bustle of patrons just beyond the threshold and the bored-looking bouncer told Roman what he needed to know. This was a bar. An iridescent decal of a fanged mouth resting innocuously by the entrance told him what he would rather not have known. This was a _vampire bar_. Son of an Annie Get Your Gun! No leaving little brother to his fate, then. 

Roman strode in with all the false confidence he could muster, a little miffed that the bouncer didn’t even bother to card him. Rude. Remus descended upon him again, and he tried to play off the undignified jolt that followed by allowing his twin to shepherd him towards the bar. “— know you’ll love him when you meet him, I’ve really been hyping you up, bro-bro! Thank me later.” Roman tuned in just in time to be shoved (really?) into the broad granite slab that made up Serpentine’s bar, Remus barely able to contain himself at his side. “Deceit! Look who I brought~! Start us up with the usual, dearest. ” He singsonged, gesticulating wildly in the hopes of catching the bartender’s eye.

Deceit?

  
The man with his back to them, whoever he was, took his sweet time responding. Roman watched him reach for clean shot glasses and Kahlua before he turned his ire back on Remus. “If all you wanted to do was commiserate— I mean _celebrate_ , our birthday, why all the secrecy, Dukey? Surely we don’t need to bother these fine fanged folks when there are plenty of places that cater to us already.”    
  
“Oh, nonsense! They love me here.” Remus effused. Twin shot glasses clinked down next to them, and the pair trained their attention on the figure responsible. “Am I right or am I right, Dee?” Meanwhile, Roman’s world stilled and refocused, like the intake of breath before a monologue.   
  
“He’s tolerated. _You_ on the other hand, may land yourself in my good graces if you’re not careful.” The man, Dee, spoke only to Roman, silken gaze the most casual trance. He seemed to ignore Remus with practiced ease, a very attractive skill. Speaking of attractive, this bartender was unfairly hot. All of Roman’s flowery, elegant words felt clumsy and inadequate. What looked like a typical bartender’s uniform was adorned with gold clasps and a two-headed snake at his breast— Serpentine’s logo. His nametag read simply, ‘D.C.’. Ahh, D.C., Deceit. A curious bowler hat crowned curling dark hair, framing a tattered set of parallel scars that ran the length of half his angular face; a pale outline against brown skin. Roman couldn’t tell what colour his mismatched eyes were due to the bar’s lighting, but by Odin, did he want to stare until he figured it out. A set of fangs glinted against his plush bottom lip when he talked, just in case Roman wasn’t already screwed.   
  
“Roman! Sanders. I shall look forward to it, Dee.” He mustered, holding out a hand to clasp D.C.’s gloved one while trying to ignore the flush creeping steadily upward. Dee simply smirked his assent, making it that much worse.   
  
“ _Ground control to Major Pain-in-my-butt!_ Bottoms up before you let Deceit up your bottom, chop-chop!” Remus interjected with a hand in front of his face, and before Roman could squawk, protest or just die of embarrassment on the spot, he bent over the counter and downed the shot hands-free. It would have been impressive if it wasn’t so darned horrifying. While their bartender seemed to take it in stride, Roman wanted the Earth to swallow him whole and spit him into Tartarus. Luckily for his sanity, another patron chose that moment to whisk Remus into a game of pool. Roman heaved a long-suffering sigh.   
  
“I am so, _so_ sorry for my idiot brother, boundaries are a foreign concept to him, if that offended you in any way—” D.C. merely held up a placating hand.   
  
“I totally don't tune out his more… unfortunate phrasing. Sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Roman brightened, perking up at the familiar words.    
  
“Ah, a fan of the Bard, I see.” Dee acknowledged it with the slightest bow of his head.   
  
“Who's she? Never heard of her... That is the traditional way to drink this shot, however. Up to you,” Though his words were non-committal, the bartender’s steady stare spoke of a challenge.   
  
“What the hey,” Roman muttered, clasping his hands behind his back and going for it. Getting his lips around the rim of the shot glass topped with whipped cream was awkward, but he managed. The sweet burn he tasted going down reminded him of Amaretto and Irish cream, both things he enjoyed. The glass was set down with another clink, and Roman caught Dee’s amused smirk as he righted himself. “A little strange, but I like it. What is that called, by the by?” He inquired, licking the last of the cream off his lips.   
  
Dee told him.

* * *

After a brief coughing fit and several minutes of Roman pretending he wasn’t about to kill Remus for making him blush down to his toes, the pair lapsed into regular conversation. Conversation blissfully free of shots named after sex acts. D.C. recommended a good cocktail (“This one is also bloodless.” “... _Right_.”) and was in the midst of mixing it when Roman piped up with a question. 

“Is it… Are my brother and I bothering anyone by being here? In an establishment meant to cater to vampires, that is. It’s just that I don’t often hear of humans frequenting these places. Not that I feel threatened by it!” He hedged, feeling like he was digging himself a deeper hole the longer he talked. Serpentine’s more uncommon features stood out to Roman now that he had a chance to look around. What looked like a modified pneumatic tube system was mounted behind the bar, a blood bag enclosed at the end of each tube. Labels noting blood type, age and locality told patrons what was available on tap at the moment. Every patron and employee Roman could get a good look at sported fangs, besides himself and Remus of course. They weren’t staring per se, but he got the impression it was a little unusual for them, too. D.C. pursed his lips, the very picture of conflicted.   
  
“Now, I _was_ going to wait until you paid to mention the cops are outside…” He trailed off, bursting into peals of laughter at Roman’s look of unadulterated horror. “Kidding, kidding. We were… confused, when Lord of the Flies over there kept returning, but as long as he pays his tab, it’s fine. Most humans are _totally_ comfortable with being surrounded and outnumbered by vampires in a casual setting, you see.” That seemed fair, he supposed. The open presence of vampires, recent as it was, wasn’t something Roman spent a lot of thought on. Their night vision and reflexes made them huge assets to any theater crew, so it was inevitable that some of his friends would be fanged.   
  
A tall, cherry red glass was set before Roman, D.C. busying himself by wiping down the countertop. He took a tentative sip after thanking him. It was… really good, suspicious colour notwithstanding! Roman beamed back at his bartender, whose professional smile softened at its edges. “Happy 21st, Roman Sanders,” he drawled, odd eyes sparkling.   
  
Roman was lucky he didn’t spill his drink with how those words startled a laugh out of him, or several. “You! You, _stop that_ , oh my gosh!” He gasped out. D.C. must have overheard his earlier comments. "Is that why Remus calls you Deceit? Unique sense of humour?”

“Must be my winning personality,” he shrugged, tone teasing. Leaning away to take another customer’s order, Dee picked up their conversation without missing a beat. “It wasn't entirely joking however, what are you, in your late twenties?"

" _I was yesterday,_ " Roman laughed, face carefully and abruptly neutral. Dee frowned at that. Or maybe it was in concentration? He couldn’t tell.

"The details are only as important as you make them out to be."

"What, ‘there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so’?"

  
"Exactly, Hamlet.” Roman flashed him an appreciative grin. He could get used to more conversations like these. Dee, for his part, made keeping up with orders while speaking to Roman look like second nature, all fluid movement and winding grace.    
  
They meandered through topics on a whim, Remus occasionally looping back to trade jabs and get increasingly sloshed. Roman explained that he’d only just gotten back from being treated to dinner with friends when Remus dragged him out again. Funny, but he was starting to mind their outing less and less. That Dee seemed to be paying markedly more attention to him than any other patron at the bar had nothing to do with it, whaaat? _Pssh._

* * *

“Daniel? _David_. What about Damien? You can’t tell me you’re not a Damien, it suits you far too well.” Roman chattered, splaying his fingers on the counter. Dee merely mimed zipping and locking his lips, balancing on the razor’s edge of smug and coy. Gods, if that wasn’t attractive. Undeterred, Roman wracked his brain for more possibilities. Three drinks in, the buzz warming under his skin was of no help. “ _Declan_? Dmitri, Derrick, Dustin, Dorian— am I getting hot or cold? At least give me something to work with, Dee Nygma!” His bartender remained unmoved.   
  
“You’re hot, if you ask me. But I’m not telling you this time.” D.C. countered, placing a glass of water in front of him to signal his finality. Roman could have gotten whiplash right then and there, both flustered and thrilled at the possibility of a next time.

Could he be faulted for not knowing how to respond to the kind of blatant flirting he normally directed at others? Maybe. “Well! Well, you leave me no choice! I’ll pester you about it another night.” He announced, downing the water with more enthusiasm than was warranted. “ Which nights would those be, exactly?” Roman liked to think he could be sly, sometimes. _Slick_ , as the kids would say. This was not one of those times. 

  
“Oh, let me check my schedule,” Dee hummed, looking surreptitiously at his bare wrist and making Roman giggle in the process. “Every single one, sans Wednesday and Sunday.”    
  


“ _Shoot_ ,” Roman tried to temper the palpable disappointment in his frown. Hadn’t they just met? “Sunday is the only day I consistently have off from rehearsal.”

Dee’s sudden squint caught him off guard. The world refocused again, this time into the pinprick of those gorgeous eyes, searching his like spotlights. “I knew it,” he stage-whispered. Roman swallowed. “Jack Worthing, the very same.” A smile broke the sharp lines of his face, just this side of fond.

“You know me?” Roman coughed, and D.C. pushed a refill towards him with such casualness that he almost missed his fingers brushing smooth leather. “I mean, you saw _Ernest_ last season, that’s, that’s wonderful!” He flowed from one gesticulation to the next, talking as much with his hands as his voice. “Looking back I think my blocking was a little stiff, but only because Worthing is so whimsical, so _fluid_! Since the point was to emphasise how he flouted, Victorian… I’m rambling again, sorry.” Roman withdrew his hands from the bar top, dropping them to his sides.

Dee simply waved it off, taking in the actor’s deflated look. “Oh _yes_ , I mind terribly getting to hear a charming man talk about the exact things that interest me.” Those mismatched eyes practically glittered. “You were going to talk about Victorian moralism...? ‘Cause if not, I will.” He prompted.

“Oh,” Roman breathed, alight with the kind of current felt only when met with someone who shared your passions. A kindred spirit. He was charged now; wanting to bounce in his seat, but settled for just his leg, relatively out of sight. “By all means, Oscar Wily!” D.C. snorted out a laugh, pouring out a pair of shots in preparation.

* * *

“ _So_ ,” Dee began, having effortlessly sent another wave of customers off with their orders. Minutes ago, Roman detailed the rehearsal schedule for their production of _Twelfth Night_ , being staged in 5 weeks with himself as Duke Orsino. “You’ve done a lot already, for a starry-eyed ingenue.”

Roman barked out a startled laugh. “Poseidon's trident, now I _know_ you’re just flirting with me!” He joked, a flush staining his tan cheeks. “30 is hardly fresh-faced— nevertheless, I’m proud of my roles.”

  
D.C. simply hummed, considering him gravely. “But… you’re unhappy.” He said finally.

“I’m not!” Roman immediately balked. The man across from him raised a single, elegant brow, intimidating despite their height difference. Fiddling with his latest glass of water, Roman tried to straighten out the ouroboros that made up his thoughts. “ _Fine_ , it’s just... I don’t know how to feel. I’m professionally fulfilled, paid decently enough and I love our theatre _so much_ but I wonder... if I’m going to age out of this?”

Roman knew, logically, that D.C. was just a bartender, and that he probably had three people spilling their guts to him a night, but his mouth might as well have been Pandora’s freakin’ box right now. “I got an offer from a major metropolitan theatre company last year, one that could’ve eventually led to T.V. or film gigs! But, I would’ve had to move, and start my life over.” 

“ _Still_ , how many people ever get that chance? I want to stay, but I feel like… what if that was my only shot?” Roman continued, nearly smacking another patron with his sweeping gestures.

He settled, all at once world weary.

“My friends are younger than me, and moving forward with their lives, going to graduate school, getting married, and I’m _ecstatic_ for them, of course! But, I’m lucky to get recognised once a season outside of work, and feel like a hypocrite that it bothers me.” Roman finished, going for his water glass to prevent any more impromptu confessions.

D.C. was a difficult person to read, but Roman was starting to pick up clues. The narrowing of those rich eyes hinted that he was thinking, not upset. The bartender leaned over his counter, intensity like a shroud over the both of them tugging Roman ever closer. It was scary.

It was breathtaking.

“Never apologise for wanting to be seen, Roman. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get where you are, and it’s not too much to ask for people to sing your damn praises.” D.C. insisted. 

Brown and grey. His eyes were brown and grey.

Dee’s dulcet voice dropped, not quite a murmur to be lost in the din of the bar, but something just for him. “I’ll let you in on a secret; vampires aren’t actually immortal.” Roman blinked.

“Okay…?”

“Our centuries are your decades, so you can see how humans got... confused. Either way, compared to _you_ , I’m immortal enough. And from my experience, you’re still on the rise.  Take it slow, but own it for yourself; don’t you _dare_ let other people’s standards for happiness interfere.” Reaching out, Dee laid a careful hand on Roman’s arm. Just for a moment. “The world will grow wise to you, because passion like yours? Doesn’t expire.”

Roman let out a breath he had no idea he was holding. If it was possible to be shocked at your own words, Dee was certainly getting there.

He wanted to close the gap again. Alcohol colouring his veins or not, he wanted to lean over and kiss him. “Dee, that was—”

“Did… you just quote _Dr. Horrible_ at my brother for your big motivational speech?” Remus interrupted, sliding home into the barstool next to Roman. To prying eyes, it was impossible to tell if he was drunk, or always this uninhibited.

Dee’s face betrayed nothing. “Remus?”

“ _Yes_ , Lestat de Lying-court?”

“Get out of my bar.”

Roman laughed loud and joyous, the spell he was under fading like the morning dew. “What about me?” He teased.

Dee pretended to think about it. “You can stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter should (should) be up in 2-3 days!
> 
> Kudos and comments (even if it's extra kudos) are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> Yell at me on twitter [@mascaboom](https://twitter.com/Mascaboom) !!


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